


Rebirth

by auctora



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:37:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auctora/pseuds/auctora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Winston activates Overwatch's recall protocol, many agents answer the call. But many more refuse to answer, it just so happens that Mercy is one of those agents who rejected the call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The call

**Author's Note:**

> The start of my first multi-chapter fic, I'll add more characters as the story progresses

The warm morning air hugged Ziegler as she went about her morning rituals. Making a nice cup of coffee with a dash of milk and two sugars, getting precisely two pieces of toast toasted to a golden brown colour and buttered lightly. It would seem as though everything was fine, that nothing in the world was wrong.

But there was wrongs in the world.

The Second Omnic crises, the recently averted crises in Egypt, not even mentioning the recent assassination of Tekhartha or even the recent message that, she could only presume, Overwatch's old AI had sent her. The message that called her back to active duty.

So it was with an anxious hand and a disturbed heart that Angela had begun to sip at her coffee and bite away gingerly at her toast as an all but mute television broadcasted its headlines to the millions of people that would watch with sleep still embedded in morning eyes. Despite the almost serene morning that she had just outside her apartment in Zurich, Angela still couldn’t find peace, let alone peace enough to enjoy the morning, not with all the memories of Overwatch flooding back to her, and even to the question of IF she should answer the call. Zieglers gaze wandered from her TV and over to her phone, Athena’s alert still being displayed from late that night.  
‘Should I re-join Overwatch?’ She would ask herself, only to think back the same answer to herself.  
‘Remember what happened last time?’ And indeed she did remember what had happened, and how could she not? Hours upon hours in a small room asked the same questions over and over again by the same people over and over again, all asking if her experiments were crimes against humanity or if she knew anything about Blackwatch.  
No. She wouldn’t re-join Overwatch. Overwatch, after all, had its chance and it failed horribly.

Angela tossed up just how she would alert whomever had activated Overwatches re-instating protocols. She knew it would likely have been Winston, and that all that was needed was to simply call him. But as her hand hovered over the option to call Winston, she hesitated. Would he not be upset? After all Overwatch was his life, it was all that he knew since he arrived off of the moon and she most certainly gave Overwatch the very ability to function as a military organisation.  
No, she couldn’t muster the bravery to call Winston, instead she moved to Lena’s number, and called her, hoping that she would be out of bed at but 9 in the morning.  
The phone rang twice before it was picked up  
‘’Ullo, who is it?’ an obviously just woken voice echoed through and into Angelas ears.  
‘Lena? It’s me Angela’  
‘Mercy!?’ Piqued the British voice on the other end, obviously more alert now than before. ‘Did ya get the message from Winston luv?’  
‘I did, bu-‘ Ziegler was cut off before she could finish what she had wanted to say by the now obviously getting hyperactive lady on the other end, now barraging Angela with ‘It’ll be like the old times’es and ‘The world needed more heroes anyway’es and such of the like.  
‘LENA’ Mercy snapped. The line quietened as a somewhat shocked Lena recoiled from the sudden reaction  
‘Lena’ A now calmer Angela proceeded ‘I wanted to know if you could pass a message onto Winston for me’  
A kind of awkward silence descended upon the two. Lena knew what the message that Mercy wanted to pass to Winston was with naught a word said about it, how could she not? After all Mercy's voice said it all.  
‘I can do that, luv’ A now more sombre voice sounded through the phone. ‘No need to tell me it luv, I reckon I know what it is anyway’  
Ziegler felt herself sink inside herself as the line went dead. Angela placed the phone down on the table once more and turned up the sound on the TV, trying to drown out the voices now arguing within herself. Had she down the right thing? Only time could possibly tell if it was, and it was with that statement that she placated herself.


	2. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda actually surprised with how long this chapter took me to put out, like, I spent days editing this.  
> Anyway, here's the second chapter, enjoy!

Lena had been on a rollercoaster of emotion since earlier that morning. Between Angela’s call and waking up at the ridiculously early time of 9 in the morning, and it was all a rather bit tiring for the Brit. Casting her gaze from the rain drenched streets just outside her small window and over to the ruffled bed that was, even hours after waking up, still managing to cast its ever tempting lure at her. But alas, much to Lena’s dismay, work remained to be done, after all she still had to get to Gibraltar, as it was there Winston was attempting to re-build Overwatch, though she doubted the old facilities security.

She had already told Winston of Angela’s decision over the phone, but the issue remained that the new Overwatch HQ was located at Gibraltar, a British holding in Spain and NOT in London let alone anywhere in the British Isles. Which meant a flight of close to 3 hours alone to Gibraltar, which wouldn’t be half as bad if she hadn’t spent a fair chunk of what little disability pension she had on economy class tickets to Gibraltar.

Sighing softly to herself, Lena tore herself away from the apartment’s sole window that casted it’s dim light onto the small, cream coloured, bedroom. Turning her attention to both the suitcase and duffle bag that lay on her bed, both mostly packed with clothes and other necessities. She knew she had to finish off packing before her flight in a few hours, but oh how tempted she was to sleep but a few hours more in her bed.  
‘I can sleep on the way, I ‘pose’ she muttered to herself as she shuffled her way over the carpeted floor which seemingly hugged her bare feet. Lena leaned over her bags and contemplated what else she needed, she had her clothes and other items she would need before she headed for Gibraltar. Looking around the small apartment, her eyes found themselves on some of the many pictures that decorated her home, surely Winston wouldn’t mind if she brought along a few small pictures right?

As she finished packing some of the many pictures she had, her eyes soon laid themselves on an old picture of her in front of an old Spitfire, taken when Lena was a child with her mother. A soft smile slowly found it’s self on her face, she could, after all, remember the whole day out even after so many years. She could still remember walking around the many planes and seeing some of them fly. Her soft smile slowly faded away as her thoughts turned from the day with her mother, and to just how free she was without her Chronal Accelerator, and oh how she missed that. Tucking her picture away safely within her suitcase before she closed up both bags. Locking the apartment door behind her, Lena slung the bag over her shoulder and now with suitcase in tow left the apartment behind her with a certain spring in her steps.

The plane ride was, for the most part, peaceful. Sitting next to a window with no-one in the next seat over, it was rather pleasant. Until, that was, Lena’s chair began to jolt back and forth. She would have dismissed it as turbulence, had it not been accompanied by a pair of kids behind her laughing. Tracer craned her neck to see the culprits who didn’t seem to care just how annoying they were being. Frowning, Lena returned to looking out her small window as her stomach let out a soft growl. Lena had only been in the plane for a half hour, but already she felt ready for it be all over.

Sometimes Oxton really missed the seemingly infinite funds of Overwatch, things were oh so much easier then. Mostly because she wouldn’t have to spend three hours in a cramped metal tube in front of a pair of kids who found immense joy in kicking Lena’s chair non-stop through-out the flight. Stretching her neck as she stepped off the plane and into the rather small arrivals lounge, soon finding herself greeted by grand arches framing glass of the most beautiful colours greeting her, giving her a beautiful view of the night coast of Spain. The multi-coloured carpeted floors mirrored the tiled roof which seemed to be two floors above or so, with thick undecorated pillars stretching from the floor to the roof. Slowly Lena moved through the sea of people in the Airport and through the main doors of the airport.

Although the temperature outside compared to the temperature inside alone was a shock to Lena, what was also a rather large shock was the fact that a rather large man was leaning against a light-pole not far from an obviously rented van, what’s more, the Man bared an uncanny resemblance to Reinhardt, at least from what Lena could see in the dim light that emanated from the light-pole.  
Her suspicions about the man were only confirmed when the Lion of a man’s gaze locked onto Tracers obvious chronal accelerator with a large smile  
‘Tracer!’ Reinhardt’s thick accent couldn’t be any more obvious ‘You finally arrive!’  
Lena couldn’t suppress the giant smile that was now plastered on her face, stretching from ear to ear.  
‘Reinhardt!’ Tracers excitement was clear, she knew a lot of people considered her a hero, but here in front of her was one of the first members of Overwatch. Sure they both knew each other, but to be greeted into Gibraltar by a man of such reputation? The sheer weight of the moment was making her legs quiver and her voice shake.  
‘What are you doin’ ‘ere love?’ Lenas voice shaking with each word  
‘What does it look like?’ Beamed Reinhardt ‘I’m bringing you to our new HQ!’  
Reinhardt let out a hearty laugh as he gestured Tracer into the Van which, strangely enough, had a feint smell of some kind of curry to it. Reinhardt took Lena’s bags and carefully placed them into the back of the van as Oxton clambered her way into the passenger’s side, eager to finally be a part of Overwatch once more. The van shook as Reinhardt entered the van, a smile planted firmly on his face.  
‘So, Winston’s got you picking me up yea?’ Lena inquired, eager to find out just why Reinhardt was picking her up  
‘Ja’ Reinhardt affirmed ‘I was here yesterday and since I’m the only one who could drive…’  
‘I could totally drive!’ Tracer interrupted ‘I just don’t have my license on me’  
‘Tracer.’ The fatherly aspect of Reinhardt shone through his voice. He knew Lena still didn’t have her license to drive, and he sure wasn’t about to leave a team-mate to walk when they could have a lift.

The ride to the old Overwatch base didn’t take much more than a minute or two at best, but to Lena it felt like an eternity, slowed down even more when the looming front structures and security towers of the old Watchpoint began to dominate the view from the truck. Even as the truck pulled up in the carpark, the shock of it all still hadn’t worn off. Sure she had been stationed here back when Overwatch was still in its prime, but now, to see the paint coming off in places and the rusting metal showing on the almost comically oversized door. It all added to the atmosphere of the moment. It was in that moment she knew, Overwatch was re-born, like a Phoenix rising from its ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to everyone who's bookmarked or left kudos on this piece, I cannot express how much you guys motivated me!


	3. Desert sands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took longer than expected. Still not quite happy with the way it came out but at this point I'm about ready to move onto the next chapter. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long as this one.

The hot desert sands of Palestine caressed Angela’s boots as the warm sun hammered into what little pale skin her loose Arabian clothes showed, weighed down with a large back-pack filled with her equipment. It had been years since Ziegler had travelled outside of Switzerland, but with Overwatchs re-activation, Mercy couldn’t shake the feeling of being useless. And so she travelled to the arid plains and desert sands of Palestine. The region had always been troubled even more so since the Omnic crisis. It seemed too many, both in and outside the region that Palestine’s plight only seemed to grow.

 

Dusty rocks sitting on arid sand passed Angela and her guide by as they pressed on through the narrow mountain passes. Though Mercy’s guide pressed on seemingly unaffected by neither sun nor sand and only stopping for Angela to catch up to him.  
‘All that equipment weighing you down, doctor?’ The guide inquired as he stopped to look back at Angela  
‘Nein, It’s just the heat’ huffed Angela, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead ‘how much longer to the camp?’  
‘Just over the ridge I think’  
‘You think?’  
‘Yes, has been a long time since I was here last’  
‘why’s that?’  
‘I am Palestinian, they are Israeli’ the guide said, motioning to nothing in particular as he stopped in the middle of the trail to look at Ziegler. ‘I’m sure you can understand’  
A pit in her stomach formed rather swiftly as the guides words reached her ears. She didn’t know much about the tensions between the two people, but from the tone of the guide it was clear to her that the tensions were still well alive.

 

It was almost another full hour of trekking through the mountains on a narrow trail before Mercy arrived at the Refugee camp, the guide having turned back once the camp was in sight with hardly a word said between the two. Even from her spot on the ridge of the valley, Angela could see children, men and women going about their daily business in-between what seemed to be a sea of tents of varying colours and size. Wasting not a moment more, Mercy pressed on, entering the camp not long after.

Although the presence of such a pale skinned person in their ranks turned heads, not a soul spoke. The people that seemed to be in charge of running the camp, although reluctant to accept the help of an un-announced stranger, allowed Mercy to stay in a small tent not far from one of the camp’s gates and attend to their sick. Setting her back-pack down on the tarp floor of the tent, Ziegler wasted no time in getting set-up. Within moments she had set up a laptop on a makeshift desk made of the remints of an old fence, with old plastic seats from an outdoor table and chairs set. 

 

The rest of the day passed rather quickly for Angela. Between treating the refugees from wounds untreated for days to dieses, there wasn’t much free time to notice its passing. It wasn’t until the sun began to cast its dying light into her tent that she finally noticed just how late it was starting to get. With the sun now setting, most other refugees would be eating their nightly rations, beginning their nightly rituals before they all went to sleep. Looking at the large pile of paper work, however, told Ziegler she probably wouldn’t be sleeping for a fair while yet.

 

By the time Ziegler had all but finished her paper work, the moon was high in the sky. All but obscured by the dark night-time clouds. It was then that Ziegler felt… watched. A cold feeling took hold of her, sending a shiver down her spine. Fear began to seep into her mind, though what from she couldn’t rightly say. With trembling hands, Mercy grabbed her pistol from her bag. She knew its low calibre would do little other than maim whoever she feared would be in the tent with her. But just having it in her hands calmed her nerves just a touch. Mercy deplored the notion of killing another human, but if it came down to kill or be killed... well Mercy hoped it didn’t come down to it.

 

The still Palestinian air rushed past her as the sound of both air and matter shifting sounded in the tent. Ziegler spun around on her heels to face whoever it was in the tent, only to end up on the sent to the floor as the intruder whacked her with what felt like a respectable sized firearm. A shotgun, from what Mercy could tell of it.  
‘Remember me?’ The man growled with a voice that sounded like gravel. From her place on the ground, Mercy could see the man in full, from the black coat and boots to the black hood and bone white skull mask. She knew who it was. Reaper. The man was a rumour among the old agents of Overwatch, a kind of bogey man that was whispered about in hush tones. But Zeigler never took much stock of the tales, at least not then. But now with the very creature that spawned the tales in front of her… it was hard for her to deny them as truth anymore. A small trickle of blood trailed its way down Angela’s face, dripping into a small pool that was beginning to form on her dusty shirt. Mercy’s eyes told the man all he needed to know about just how scared she was. Though what got to her the most wasn’t that he was pointing two guns at her face, but rather the fact that the man was so apathetic about it.  
‘W-what do you want?’ was all Ziegler could stammer out as she withdrew a hand covered in blood from her head.  
The man cocked his head softly to one side, almost in contemplation at just what he wanted from the doctor.  
‘How about…’ The man started, letting his harsh voice trail off ‘your life’ the man let out a series of short laughs.  
Mercy slowly began to shake her head, her eye’s full of fear and locked with the man’s skull mask. Seconds felt like minutes as the man pressed down on the triggers to his guns. The sounds of them ringing in Angela’s ears as the heat from the guns report singed her cheek. The sharp sound of the pellets flying through the air filled Mercy’s ears as the shots flew towards their mark. For what felt like an eternity, Mercy simply sat there awaiting what would happen next. It wasn’t until the ringing in her ears had subsided that she noticed that the man was now gone, though where too she couldn’t say. A woman now stood in front of her, the eye of Horus tattooed under her left eye.


	4. The call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was mostly finished awhile back, but thanks to things going on in my life I hadn't gotten around to finishing it off. Hopefully the next chapter won't take nearly as long to push out.
> 
> Also hint's of Ana/Reinhardt

Ash and dust coated the table at which he now sat. Dust from the years of neglect and the ash from fires long since extinguished. Simply sitting at the old table where the old flames once roared ignited the once slumbering embers into feelings of sorrow. He remembered what Overwatch was. And what brought it down. And it was those softly glowing embers that made sitting at the table, emblazed with the Overwatch logo alongside Winston and Tracer, all that much more unsettling. Though he would never admit it, Reinhardt was unsure if the reborn group was up to the challenge of not only fighting off Talon, but avoiding the mistakes of the past. And that was why he was there, to guide the fledgling group to their best shot at winning. Still, the nagging feeling of being so close to where so much of Overwatchs problems began pestered his mind, threatening to explode the soft embers into fires once more.

 

All three of them were gathered in the room for the emergency call from Mercy. All three of them knew was that it was important enough to interrupt their dinner, which for Angela meant something was majorly wrong. It was simply not like her to interrupt anyone’s meal, let alone interrupting anything else.  
‘Perhaps she wants to wish us well’ Winston said softly, grasping at any possible reason to explain why Angela was calling them then other than the most probable one, that Talon was after her. Tracer opened her mouth to talk, but swiftly shut it again as a large holographic screen was projected into the room. Within seconds of the screen appearing Angela too appeared, a dark red patch of still fresh blood slowly dribbling from her head like a river. For what felt like hours not a word was said between them.   
‘Angela?’ Reinhardt asked, concern in his voice, ‘vhat happened?’ Another period of silence befell the group, before Angela spoke; ‘Reaper’. The mere mention of the name made the atmosphere in the room uncomfortably oppressive. They all knew the implications of the name, not to mention the danger that they were in if he was now targeting them. A small pit began to form in Reinhardt’s Stomach as the reality of the whole situation began to sink in.

 

Reinhardt was ripped from his thoughts by a voice, heavily accented. Looking up to the holographic screen revealed the face of a woman, the Eye of Horus under her left eye framed by slick black hair. The words that the woman spoke fell onto Reinhardt’s deaf ears. All he could think was one name, Ana. Sure Ana had long since been dead, but the resemblance was striking, but subtly different. The eye of Horus was tattooed under the womans right eye. Ana didn't, Ana had the eye of Ra under her left eye. The womans long bangs were encased in ornate gold endings with her black hair cut rather short at the shoulders. Ana’s long hair was left bare and draped well over her shoulders in a way that framed her beauty. Reinhardt knew that the lady wasn’t Ana, but seeing the similarities simply made him miss her even more.

 

Reinhardt came out of his thoughts when Lena had nudged his side, a soft smile painted on her face.  
‘Lost in thoughts eh?’ Oxton picked.  
A hearty smile broke out on Reinhardt’s face. ‘I vas just trying to remember vhy ze lady seemed so familiar to me’ The giant of the man responded, after all it was the truth in part. Tracers bright smile erupted into a big toothy grin, while Winston’s focused look devolved into a soft grin. ‘Don’t you remember me?’ The dark skinned lady asked with a cheeky tone to her voice, a smile starting to spread on her face.  
‘It’s Fareeah, Ana’s daughter’ Tracer told him with a soft nudge.  
Reinhardt held his smile as he laughed, but it wasn’t doing much to quell his brewing emotions.

 

The rest of the call passed by like a blur, as if it was a surreal dream, and before Reinhardt knew it the call was over, leaving the group in a quite scene. No-one moved or spoke a word, everyone simply mulling over in their minds what their next step was. It was obvious that they would need to pick up Angela and Fareeha. But to do so would pose the risk of the United Nations taking notice of them using an Overwatch marked dropship. And they could just sail or drive to Israel, it would take too long and give Reaper more time to strike at Angela and Fareeah. But then a thought raced through Reinhardts mind. They didn’t have to use the drop ship now did they. There was nothing stopping them booking planes to Israel, and there wasn’t much the U.N. could do about it.  
‘I have an Idea’ Reinhardt stated, a sly smile slowly growing on his face. Quizzical faces from Tracer and Winston looked towards the burly man. ‘Just how much vould a flight to Israel cost?’  
It was a simple question, but the implications were obvious, at least it was if the faces on the two was anything to go by.


End file.
